Doesn't matter.

Friends and associates know where I'm coming from. Most of the time, at least. Because I proclaim. My intentions. My feelings. About them. Personally. Directly. And often in public, too. In reflections. Such as postings. In my blog.  Count 'em. Over 7,700 postings in recent years. Hardly miss a day of spouting off. Speaking the truth. My truth. In brutal and loving ways. Yes, love can be brutal. The truth can hurt. But I risk. More than occasionally alienating friends. I've even been known to renounce a friend or two or three. For not toeing the line. By falling short of my expectations.  I don't hesitate intervening. In their lives. When really, they would prefer. Me staying out. But heck. That's the way I handle friendship.  Doesn't matter. Whether my so-called friends like it or not. --Jim Broede

A downright dirty shame.

Forgive me, folks. For being far too judgmental. Of some of my friends and associates. Especially those that I deem to be self-destructive. They have become alcoholics. A disease that can be successfully treated. I remind my alcoholic friends that they can go into rehab and become more or less cured. And lead normal lives again.  I remind them, too, that the Alzheimer-riddled don't have such an option. The disease gets progressively worse. There's no cure. I have empathy for the Alzheimer-afflicted. I would never write them off. I'd stick by them. In the most difficult times. And go out of my way to be their dedicated and loyal friend. But I have far less empathy for an alcoholic. I'd even write-off some alcoholic friends. It's a judgment call.  Annoys me. That they don't seek readily-available treatment. Refusing the opportunity to recover. Yes, a downright dirty shame. --Jim Broede

Doing things for each other.

I'd like to think that my friendship is priceless. That it would be revered. And not surrendered. Especially for something as cheap as booze. But I know better. I put a somewhat dear alcoholic friend to the test. No more friendship, I declared. Unless you quit drinking. Well, she decided in favor of a daily diet of wine rather than having me as an active friend.  Indeed, a blow for my ego. But hey, so be it. My ego is big enough to survive such a setback. Who knows? Maybe she'll reconsider some day. And become a recovering alcoholic. For not only her sake. But for mine and everyone, too. Yes, the true nature of friendship. Doing things for each other. --Jim Broede

       

In my quest. For the right thing.

Sometimes I wish I didn't do. What I did. Yes, I have regrets. Self-doubt. Can't be sure. But still, I don't hesitate. Taking risks. Because that's me. My chosen path of life. Full of mistakes. And second thoughts. But still. That's better. Than becoming stagnant. I'm willing to live. With the consequences. Of doing the wrong thing. In my quest. For the right thing. --Jim Broede 

In an accepting way.

Maybe I'd be better off and wiser. By merely letting things be. As an observer of life. But I sometimes want to influence outcomes. To intervene. In the lives of others. Especially friends. Whose lives seem to be going awry. I become bold. And offer advice. And psychotherapy. Whether the friend likes it or not. Yes,  I stick my nose. Into other people's business. I become my opinionated self. Rather than leave well enough alone. Maybe I should live. By the example of the creator/god. Seems to me that he/she absolutely refuses to intervene. Instead, allows life to unfold in natural ways. Like a random roll of the dice. No preplanned outcome. Therefore, disasters. Here and there. And lovely and precious moments, too. Just letting it all be. In an accepting way. Like it or not. --Jim Broede

The treasure of true love.

Friends come and go. But true love is different. It's permanent. Unconditional. Forever. I've been lucky. In that regard. Two true loves. In my lifetime. Makes me feel fulfilled. Sure, it's nice to have friends, too. But they aren't the same as true loves. I'd stick by a true love. No matter what. True love is irrevocable. As permanent as permanent can be. Even after death. Into eternity. Like I say. Friends come and go. They are temporary. Gets one by. For the moment. Little wonder. That true love is to be treasured most of all. --Jim Broede

I hope and pray.

I have casual friends. And dear friends. The casual ones are more or less acquaintances. Not real. Not true. The dear ones, I try to revere. In many ways. But still, I occasionally stop. To evaluate. My dearest friendships. Especially if they have become one-way. Instead of operating on two-way streets. I generally give. A whole lot. But want something of value in return. Wonder if that makes me selfish. It’s happening now. I’m putting demands on a so-called dear friend. She ain’t taking adequate care of herself. She’s in noticeable decline. Drinking daily. Yes, she’s an alcoholic. I’m trying to get her to see the light. To look at life from a different, more positive  perspective. I want her to go in for the cure. For rehab. I desperately want her to become a recovering alcoholic. To put her life together again. Like it once was. But she doesn’t. And I’m getting tired of asking. Of pleading. Of begging. Once upon a time, that was my dear sister. She failed me. And maybe I failed her. By abandoning her. For many years. Because she refused to meet my demands. My friendship requirements. Now I have another friend. Who has let me down. Who has not adequately reciprocated our friendship. Who insists on destroying herself. And wants me to watch her total disintegration. Her slow and methodical suicide. And I’m refusing to participate. Refusing to be an enabler. I can’t take it emotionally any more. I’ve put her on notice. Our friendship is over. On suspension, at best. Unless she meets my demands. Only then is it possible for the friendship to be rekindled. I hope and pray. That happens some day. –Jim Broede

I've lost a dear friend.

I've lost a dear friend. So sad. I hated to do it. But decided yesterday to suspend her. Indefinitely. As a friend.  Until she shapes up. And meets my extraordinarily high standards of friendship. She's let me down. By not taking care of herself. Among other things, she drinks too much. She's an alcoholic. That's 70 percent of her problem. Unfortunately, she's in denial. Another thing. She's a liar. Lies to herself. And to me, too. Makes promises that she never keeps. I've been very, very kind to her. For a long time. She's kind, too. In material ways. But not in meaningful and truly loving ways. I tell her that she's wrecking her life. And her marriage. In addition to her health.  She's in deplorable condition. Looks like she's recently emerged from a concentration camp. But refuses to get help. Even at the impassioned pleas of her husband and many friends. She's scheduled appointments. For psychotherapy. And for a physical exam. But chickens out. Never shows up. I've had enough of her antics. And her empty promises. Our friendship is on suspension. Until she checks in for rehab. I've talked to her. Pleaded. Endlessly. Does no good. Guess I'll just have to accept the fact. I've lost a dear friend. To alcohol.  --Jim Broede

One and the same -- with god.

I wonder. What it would be like. To be god, the creator. Maybe god is in everything. Alive and flourishing. In every speck of creation. Even in me. And you, too.  Everything. Everyone. We're all a piece of god. Capable of experiencing. The feeling. Of being god. Some would say that's blasphemy. Not me, of course. I like the notion. Of being able to commune with god. Because we are one and the same -- with god. --Jim Broede

Anywhere in creation.

Sometimes, I feel like staying up all night. Because I'm flowing. Nicely. Like a river. Or maybe even a babbling brook. And it's a shame. To interrupt my stream of conscious thought. Makes me wonder. If a river or a brook or a tree or a rock feels alive. Does one need a brain to possess a soul? Maybe a soul is a soul is a soul. Without physical form. And that is the source of one's consciousness.  A non-physical flow. A spirit. Drifting. Drifting. Forever. Capable of lodging. In a river. In a brook. In a tree. In a rock. Anywhere in creation. --Jim Broede

Yes, another question. To ponder.

Maybe I'm too analytical. Trying to understand quirky people. When really they are more normal than me. I'm the quirky one. Abnormal. Different. But then, isn't that what I'm supposed to be? Probing. Analytical. Of everything. Why? Why? Why? I'm always asking why. Why this? Why that? Maybe I'd be better off. Merely getting on with life. Without asking questions. But that may be impossible. Maybe I'm naturally curious. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Yes, another question. To ponder. --Jim Broede

Sometimes perceived as ego.

I was born. To figure out. To fathom. The complications of life. That's what I do. On a daily basis. And I do it well. Maybe that sounds egocentric. But hey. Nothing wrong with that. Recognizing talent. When I see it. Even in me. But alas. I also see talent in many others. In my friends. And associates. Even in strangers. Everyone has talent. Of one kind or another. Unfortunately, some do not put their amazing talents to practical use.  They need to cultivate more self-awareness. Sometimes perceived as ego. --Jim Broede

A remarkable twisted mind.

Minds can be twisted in good ways, too. To do irrational stuff. Like proceeding fearlessly. In search for happiness. And truth. Without harming other people, of course. That's the key. I suspect that many writers have twisted minds. They look for odd twists. In life. And make the most of  it. They emerge as positive thinkers. Even in the face of adversity. Some of the people that I admire most. Must have been crazy. To tackle seemingly impossible tasks.  That guy alleged to have walked on water, for instance. Sounds like he had a remarkable twisted mind. To bring about significant and meaningful change in the world.--Jim Broede

A true believer in happiness.

I'm an advocate. Of living in a fantasy or dream world. At least part-time. Using one's imagination. Sure beats the hum-drum approach to life. Turns out. I've created a world that makes me happy. And in love. With life. Because the imagination allows for no restraints. No bounds. Any and everything is possible. I have become the creator. Of my own reality. A true believer in happiness. --Jim Broede

To take care of one's self.

I used to read the care-givers forum. On the Alzheimer's message boards. But seldom do any more. For a reason. There's too much sadness. The musings section tends to be more upbeat. A place to find respite. To escape one's woes. And to think pleasant thoughts. A way to rejuvenate. And therefore, become a better care-giver, a better human being.  I learned. That to become a better care-giver, it's paramount. To take care of one's self. And to exude good vibes. Virtually all of the time. --Jim Broede

I'm smarter.

One shouldn't become alarmed. When suddenly finding one's self in so-called 'old age.' In the 70s, 80s and 90s. After all, that beats the alternative. Never living into old age. Of course, old age comes with drawbacks. Not the least being aches and pains that come with a physical body on the decline. But so far, I find this stuff tolerable. No excruciating discomfort. Merely mild. And all this could be due to over-exertion. Trying to fool one's self. Into believing that 'old age' really hasn't yet set in. That one can choose to remain reasonably youthful. I don't celebrate or count birthdays any more. That was always an odd practice. Now that I'm older, I know better. I'm smarter. --Jim Broede

       

Turning the pitfalls. Into blessings.

Feeling my way through life. That's the way to go. One doesn't need a well-planned course of action. Better to take life as it comes. Finding ways to make the best of everything. Requires the ability to adapt. To adjust. Helps to have a positive attitude. Taking risks. Making mistakes/learning experiences. In the end. It's the pursuit of happiness that counts most. Which means. Falling in love with life. Making it easier. Turning the pitfalls. Into blessings. --Jim Broede

Give me the poets and dreamers.

I like going to the musings section on the Alzheimer's message boards. And posting there. Because it's a special place. Off the beaten track. Most people on the message boards go to the care-givers forum.  And ignore musings. Maybe because they don't like to muse. My kind of people love to muse. But they tend to be relatively few and far between. Others prefer more ordinary pursuits.  Give me the extraordinary. The poets. The dreamers. Those that get their sustenance. By reflecting. By pondering. By musing. --Jim Broede

Precious. Precious. Precious.

It's an advantage. Having a limited number of friends. I'd not like very many friends. Because that would spread me thin. Trying to be absolutely true to all of  my friends. Actually, I have many, many acquaintances. And relatively few friends. And I've had only two true loves. In my lifetime. No reason to complain. Because some don't even have one. There's a difference. Between ordinary and true lovers and friends. The true ones are accepted unconditionally. Thereby, taking an extraordinary commitment. Think about it. Accepting someone unconditionally. With all their baggage. With all their shortcomings. Doesn't matter. Because that is what makes them unique. And acceptable. Makes them precious. --Jim Broede

If lying is what it takes. So be it.

I try to be honest. With myself. With others. Even brutally honest. But then. Maybe honesty is no more than self-deception. And there is no honesty. We pretend to be honest. When we don't even know the truth. Or the truth is perhaps too harsh. To be faced. Hard to tell. Some days, I wonder. If I'm happy. Because I have learned. To lie to myself. Without  knowing it. But if lying is what it takes. So be it. --Jim Broede

I wonder. About twisted minds.

Twisted minds. I encounter them. Daily. If not personally. In the news. Like that Germanwings pilot. That committed suicide. By slamming his plane into the French Alps. With 149 others aboard. Indeed, that is a twisted mind. Evidence indicates that it was a calculated act. Planned. Thought about. Researched. I personally know people with twisted minds. Fully capable of suicidal acts. A family  member. Friends. Acquaintances. People who chose suicide. As the means to end their lives. Thought I saw a statistic. Indicating 40,000 suicides. Every year. In the U.S. alone. Makes me wonder. What is a twisted mind? Take egocentric politicians, for instance. I'd swear.   Many of 'em have twisted minds. For even pursuing a career in politics. Maybe even I have a wonderfully twisted mind. For having fallen in love. With precious life. Despite the travesties.  Wrought by twisted minds. --Jim Broede

Yes, less stressful.

I'm learning. To avoid stress. In little ways. In big ways. By saying 'no.' Living life in a more casual and deliberate manner. No reason to be fazed. By the antics of others.  Bad stuff happens. So be it. After all, it's usually beyond my control. Another thing. I can't change people. Other than myself. Therefore, better to focus. On me. Over what I can control. I'm mastering the craft/art of acceptance. And it feels good. Yes, less stressful. --Jim Broede

To savor each word, each thought.

I have a friend who talks. Virtually non-stop. About almost any and everything. Don't know how to take this. It's something new. She wasn't always like this. I almost feel like a psychotherapist. Listening. Listening for valuable clues. Why is she doing this? She sounds like a machine gun. The words, the thoughts come. Out of her mouth. In rapid-fire order. Rat-a-tat-tat. Like a machine gun. I tell her to slow down. Suspecting that she has too much on her mind. And she's trying to let it all out. All at once. Maybe that's a good sign. But then, maybe it isn't. I'm overwhelmed. Just listening. Observing. Evaluating. Occasionally, I butt in. Speak at a slower pace, I quip. I want her to speak with a slow and casual drawl. To sound as if she's no longer in a hurry. To reflect. To savor each word, each thought. --Jim Broede

Life's many complications.

I've noticed. A double whammy effect. On a friend. In depression. And drinking at the same time. One exacerbates the other. She tries to seek relief from her depression. By imbibing. With more than a sip of wine. Doesn't work. Instead, she's driven deeper into depression. Therefore, I advocate staying sober. Completely. Not even taking a sniff of the bar rag. Of course, she doesn't listen. Denies having a drinking problem. Though she acknowledges.  That she's in depression. I tell her. Stop drinking. That would be a good start. For treating the depression. The sad fact. All this is far easier said than done. Wish life didn't have to be so complicated. --Jim Broede

Feels like walking on water.

Some mornings. I feel like going back to bed. Because I feel so good. Helps me. To feel good. In a relaxed manner. Allows me to savor. Simply feeling good. I don't have to hurry. To do anything. In particular. It's all right.  To fall asleep again. In a peaceful slumber. A perfect way. To get my daily exercise. By levitating. Feels like walking a blissful marathon. On water.  --Jim Broede

Just for kicks.

Don't worry. Be happy. A good credo. To follow. Daily. When stopping to think. I always find more  reasons to be happy. Than reasons to worry. It's up to me. I can choose to be happy. And get on with life. The way it was meant to be. Some of my best friends. Worry. Endlessly. They worry about being unhappy. Funny. Funny. Makes me wonder. If one can worry about being too happy? Maybe I should give it a try. Just for kicks. --Jim Broede

About the pleasures of living.

Aging. A dirty five-letter word. Don't like to think too much about it. Rather stay young. And vibrant. To take an elixir. A sip from the fountain of youth. But I'm discovering. Aging doesn't have to be as bad as one imagines. More a matter of slowing down. Fortunately, more physical. Than mental. With me, at least. I can handle it. By adjusting my attitude. Merely recognizing that I have to walk 10 miles some days. Rather than running or jogging. And to break the walk up into segments. If necessary, I could still walk a slow marathon. Running would be out of the question. I can tolerate the physical aches and  pains. Far easier than the mental ones.  Nicest thing. I can still reason. Figure things out. Yes, adjust. To the process of aging. To slower-paced living. Allows for more savoring than in my hectic-paced youth. Every day. I  learn another charming lesson. About the pleasures of living. And loving, too. --Jim Broede

By being me.

Always. There's a way to solve a problem. Nothing is hopeless. That's a good way to look at life. Optimistically. Attitude is everything. And taking life one day at a time. That's helpful, too. Not getting too far ahead of one's self. Focus on now. Today. The moment. Sometimes. I'm guilty. Of not practicing what I preach. But for the most part. I find ways to not only cope. But to thrive. By being me. --Jim Broede

Thank you, Julie.

Thank you, Julie. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I can't say it often enough. Julie has agreed to see a doctor. For a complete physical. Next Monday. She made the appointment. On her own. A sign that Julie wants to get well again. That it's time to come out of depression. To start to truly relish life again. Julie's friends are rejoicing. Thank you, dear Julie. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You've made our day. --Jim

Masquerading.

I understand. Why people don't know. What to make of me. After all, I am a strange one. Because that is what I want to be. Strange. Misunderstood. A puzzle. Yes, that is what I am. Indecipherable. A mystery. I've done a good job of it. Masquerading. --Jim Broede

Alone. In the wilderness.

Maybe I've lived my entire life in the wilderness. Never coming in. I've had the idea. That one was supposed to flee. To the proverbial wilderness. To collect thoughts. To figure things out. But what if that's where I've been? Always. In the wilderness. Pretending to make human contact. Without really doing it. Because one is alone. In the wilderness. --Jim Broede

Getting on with life.

Why should I care about anyone? Thing is. I probably don't care about more than a loved one or two. And a few friends. Because if I cared about multitudes, I might be overwhelmed. Better to go through the motions of caring for others. Which may be the same as not really caring. Could be that I really care only about me.  About surviving. About being happy. And contented. At peace, so to speak. For that to happen, I allow only certain people into my inner sanctum. I shut out the remainder. For selfish reasons. To make life easier. Less complicated. Could be that I can't handle/deal with more than one true love/true friend at a time. It's called focus. I narrow my vision. My outlook. My reality. In order to get my act together.  My way of getting on with life. --Jim Broede

I want action. No more excuses.

Julie isn't having fun any more.  That's the problem. If she's to continue as my friend, I'm requiring that she have fun. I don't want morose friends. They need to shape up. And be happy. Sad, sad friends are a burden. A nuisance. Similar to an albatross hanging around one's neck. I want friends that know how to savor life. The little things. The big things. Everything. I'm putting Julie on notice. She must meet my criteria for friendship. She's depressed. And drinking. Which exacerbates a deplorable situation. But Julie could get well again. If she went in for treatment. What Julie has is curable. Treatable. But Julie has to take the initiative. And pull her self up. By the bootstraps, if necessary. I insist upon it. And I'm willing to help. That is, if Julie shows even a tiny bit of inclination to help herself. It's time for action, Julie.  I want action. No more excuses. Time to make life fun once again. --Jim Broede

Having fun, fun, fun.

My Chicago Cubs have learned to have fun. Playing baseball. Therefore, they are winning. Yes, I know it's only 10 games into the season. But the Cubs have a winning record. Six wins. Four losses.  Yes, I know there are still 152 games left to play. A whole lot can happen. Good and bad. But I'm expecting mostly good. Because the Cubs are having fun. No longer merely going through the motions of playing baseball.  Even when they lose a game. It's fun. Having the opportunity to come back. The next day. And win.  The Cubs have yet to lose two games in a row. This ain't what it used to be like. The old Cubs would have lost several straight by now. And be mired in last place. Oh, they'll have a losing streak. That's the nature of baseball's long, long season. The best of the good hitters make out. Two out of three times. But a hit, once every three at bats. That's very good. Makes one an elite baseball player. On Friday, the Cubs brought up a highly-touted rookie third baseman. Kris Bryant. For his major league debut. He went hitless. And struck out three times. But on Saturday, Bryant was back in the line-up. For his second game in the big leagues. He had learned something. Reached base five times. With two hits and three walks. He had learned his lesson well. From Day One. To become more selective with the pitches. And he was having fun, fun, fun. The Cubs entered the ninth inning. Leading 6-2. But the Cubs had a relapse. Playing like the Cubs of old. San Diego rallied for four runs in the ninth. Tying the score. But unlike the team of old, the Cubs forced extra innings. They overcame the ninth inning disappointment. And won the game, 7-6, in the 11th inning. With Bryant getting his second major league hit. Keeping the winning rally alive. Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. The Cubs find a way to win. A game they might have easily lost in the old days. Meanwhile, I'm refreshed. Enjoying being a lifelong Cubs fan. Having fun, fun, fun. Isn't that what life is supposed to be all about? --Jim Broede

Am I doing the right thing?

I'm thinking. About making my friendship with dear Julie conditional. Maybe that's a sign it ain't a true friendship. But what the heck. I can't stand watching Julie disintegrate. Getting deeper and deeper into depression. Deeper into alcoholic ways. And not allowing her loved ones to intervene. Refusing  to get help for herself. It's a complicated situation. If I had the power and wherewithal, I'd have Julie committed. Into extended treatment. For her steadily declining physical, mental and emotional condition. If I were casting Julie in a movie, she'd play someone just out of Auschwitz. She looks that bad. And her loved ones tell me they feel powerless. Watching. Watching. Watching the decline. I've been encouraging Julie to check into the Mayo Clinic. In nearby Rochester, Minnesota. For a week-long exam and  evaluation. I feel like telling her, do it. Or else I'm cutting off our friendship. I will disassociate myself with Julie. Until she agrees to enter the Mayo Clinic. Tell me, am I doing the right thing? I think so. Desperate times need desperate measures.

Don't get me wrong. I'd never dream of using a ploy, like this, on a friend/loved one who had Alzheimer's. Because that's an entirely different situation. The societal rules are such. That it's easier to intervene in the case of the Alzheimer-riddled. They are deemed incapable of making their own decisions. They have become mentally deficient. Harder to make that case with Julie. She's still functional. In many ways. But irrational. She's still granted the freedom to make her own decisions. Even not to take care of herself adequately. She can't necessarily be put away involuntarily. She has the right to not see a doctor. Or to get treatment. So one must come up with a ploy. To make it happen. Maybe even in a devious way. Yes, maybe it's worth a try. What does one have to lose? By issuing an ultimatum, of sorts. I want to encourage Julie's husband to make an appointment. For Julie. At the Mayo Clinic. And then some how convincing/forcing Julie to go in. In our presence. A true intervention. Which could be a start for getting Julie on the road to recovery. Look at it this way. Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.--Jim Broede

On creating an idyllic world.

Can't change the world. No matter how hard I try. Maybe I can change me. To some degree. But not others. Or the world. Maybe that's good enough. Changing me. So that I learn acceptance. Still having the opportunity. To embrace what I like. And putting up with what can't be changed. Yes, ignoring the limitations. Nothing to stop me. From dreaming. Of a better world.  Fantasizing. By creating an idyllic world. In my imagination. --Jim Broede

Playing roles of helpless actors.

I feel helpless. Because I can't save my friend. Because she doesn't want to be saved. She's crazy. Depressed. Addicted to alcohol. All of the above. And more. I'm told that she must want to be saved. That she has to make her own decision. But really, she's incapable of making rational, positive decisions. She's incompetent. She should be put away. In an institution. Where she can obtain help. That's my opinion. Unfortunately, I don't have the authority or wherewithal to bring this about. Oh, I have the inclination. The desire. And maybe I'll find a way. Eventually. But there are so very many hurdles. Unless she volunteers to seek help. That's the way the system works. Help comes too late. My friend is committing a slow, methodical suicide. By doing detrimental stuff. She's a mental and physical and emotional wreck. She really should be hauled away. By people in white coats. And forced into treatment. But she won't be. Because we are mere observers. Everyone. Playing roles of helpless actors.  Fearing to intervene in meaningful ways. ---Jim Broede

The biggest challenge of my life.

I can often  differentiate between unhappy and happy beings. And that leaves me pondering. Whether to do anything about it. Or just leave well enough alone. Yes, maybe I shouldn't interfere. After all, that's the way the creator/god would deal with the matter.  But I'm a mere imperfect human. So sometimes I choose to intervene.  To do something about it. I play the role of psychotherapist. To find ways to make unhappy people happy again. Of course, maybe they never were happy.  Having been born chronically and irrevocably unhappy. Who's to say? Anyway, here I am. Having assumed many roles in life. Romantic idealist. Spiritual free-thinker. Political liberal. Lover. Dreamer. Writer. Rebel. And now not least, psychotherapist. I try to figure out people. Especially the unhappy ones. And see if I can convince/persuade them to become happy. Indeed, it's the biggest challenge of my life. --Jim Broede

For everyone's sake.

I have an alcoholic friend. And don't know how long one should tolerate it. Even with a dear, dear friend. If I were married to an alcoholic. I might some day issue an edict. Go into treatment. Get help. There comes a point. Where alcoholism should no longer be tolerated. Yes, a hard-hearted, tough love approach. I am in favor of alcoholics being committed.  Forcibly. Against their will. Into treatment. I would have done it. With my sister. If I had had the authority. Instead, she was allowed to ruin her life. For many, many years. Now she's a recovering alcoholic.   Better late than never.  But still, it should have been much sooner.  For her sake. For everyone's sake. --Jim Broede

An everlasting presence.

It's unhealthy to grieve for a long, long time. For years, for instance. I have a friend. That doesn't know how to stop grieving for the loss of her elderly parents. She flits into depression. Laments. Cries. I encourage her to get over it. Maybe that makes me seem heartless. No, it really doesn't. Some grievers are masochistic. They are needlessly punishing themselves. They assume that grieving endlessly is the right and proper thing to do.  No. No. No, I protest. It's unhealthy. Abnormal. To refuse to get on with life. One must learn to accept the loss of loved ones. Especially elderly parents who lived a long and fruitful life. I have nothing against grieving. Within reasonable limits. But at some point, one must adjust. And accept the loss. And focus on what one still has. A spiritual connection. To those near and dear to us. An everlasting presence. --Jim Broede

Which pleases me no end.

Don't get me wrong. If someone wants to be a people pleaser. OK. Fine. So be it. But if it happens to be one of my dear friends, I might offer a few words of caution. Especially if being a pleaser seems to be more detrimental, than beneficial. That's certainly the case with my friend Julie. She spreads herself thin. Trying to please virtually everyone in her life. I make an issue of it. Privately. And publicly, too.  Because it's not only Julie I'm talking about. She's merely my prime example. Maybe some people pleasers would take me to task. For not being pleasing enough. For displeasing Julie. I have no qualms about that. The worse thing I can do is to please Julie when she shouldn't be pleased.  Of course, that's my judgmental opinion. And to put people on notice. That I'm not very good at being a pleaser. Which pleases me no end. --Jim Broede

My rebellious way of life.

Long ago. I learned to take charge of my life. Better than to leave that task to others. Really, it isn't a task. It's a pleasure. Yes, to take charge. To be the boss. The determiner. Of one's own fate. Initially, of course, one doesn't have much choice. The parents take over. Otherwise, one wouldn't survive. One needs to be nurtured. But soon after graduating from kindergarten, I started to become a rebel. Now I am a full-fledged rebel. Doing very much as I please. Making my own choices. I don't have to please anyone. Though I try to please my amore mio. But she's a teacher. And one of her primary goals is to encourage students to be rebels. And one might say, that I make a good student. Though I would tend to take over the class.  And become the de facto teacher. Anyway, all I can say. I'm in love. With the my rebellious way of life. --Jim Broede

An absolutely asinine goal.

My friend Julie is a people pleaser. Always has been. Ever since she was a kid. Partly because her father was demanding. And she wanted to be a good daughter.  So she went out of her way. To please him. Rather than to please herself. That's what she has done. Well into adulthood. In her 60s now.  She tries to please everyone but herself.  Which is a ridiculous approach to life. And I tell her that. Yes, the brutal truth. She'll never be truly happy. Until she learns to say 'no.' To many of her friends and acquaintances. She has to learn. That her lifelong goal to please everyone but herself.  Is absolutely asinine. --Jim Broede

In simple, understandable terms.

I'm my own best psychotherapist. Always have been. Even as a kid. I can figure things out. If something bothers me. And makes me unhappy. I analyze the situation. And do something about it. And become reasonably happy again. No sense in allowing  unhappiness to linger.  I like to counsel friends. Whether they like it or not. Because I see solutions to their problems. Might as well tell them. Even if it takes being brutally honest. The next move is up to them. Take it or leave it. Of course, they have the opportunity/option to figure out things. By themselves. That's the preferred way. But hey. A really good psychotherapist should make it easy. By prescribing solutions. There for the taking. That's not foisting anything on anyone. Just merely stating the obvious. Often in simple, understandable terms. --Jim Broede

Always, the mandarin orange.

I'm hooked on fresh mandarin oranges. So nice to peel. And eat. One section at a time. Six oranges in a day. Makes me wonder. About the kinds of  fruit trees in the Garden of Eden. There must have been mandarins. And apples. Peaches and cherries, too. I could subsist all day and all week. On nothing but fruit. Including tomatoes. Which, I'm told, are sometimes mistaken for vegetable. In the beginning, I'm assuming that nobody ate meat. As for drink, I'm guessing mostly water and orange juice. No wine or beer. No restaurants, either. So many foods and styles of preparation. To come later. But always, there was the mandarin orange. Yes, one of the original fruits. --Jim Broede

Seeing the light of day again.

I've known alcoholics. Many. Many. Family members. Friends. Acquaintances. Strangers. And there's no more difficult people to deal with. Than non-recovering alcoholics. I have a dear friend. An alcoholic. In denial. Refuses to believe. That she's addicted. Acts like a fool. When she imbibes. Doesn't take much. A glass or two of wine. Maybe all she has to do is smell a bar rag. And she's off to the races. So sad. Friends and acquaintances tell her she's got a serious problem. My sister was that way. For most of her life. Addicted to booze and tobacco. Didn't quit. Until about 10 years ago. She salvaged her life. The very day that she quit. Cold turkey. Drinking and smoking.  She bottomed out. Fell asleep. In a drunken stupor. A lighted cigarette in her mouth. Burned down her house. Luckily, she escaped. And found the sober life again. Meanwhile, I keep wondering. What it's going to take. For my dear friend and others to come out of denial. And see the light of day again. --Jim Broede

The way it's supposed to be.

Alzheimer care-givers. They are in dire need of sustenance. And amazing. Where that sustenance comes from. Yes, from my dear sweet Alzheimer-riddled Jeanne. At first, it was an agonizing task. But gradually, over the 13-year journey, it became pure pleasure. Not when I was a 24/7 care-giver. But for the last 38 months. When Jeanne was in a nursing home. And I became a rested 8-10 hour a day care-giver. Focused and rested. And in love. We were getting sustenance. From each other. The way it's supposed to be. --Jim Broede

Without any coaxing.

Gardening. Another pursuit that I'm taking seriously. Spending hours. Daily. On my hands and knees. Preparing my yard. For spring planting. I love the feel of dirt. And moist leaves. Left over from fall. My amore mio wants me to have a hefty and varied array of flowers. When she arrives this summer. She will take charge. And fine tune my handiwork. I'm thinking of planting hostas. Maybe hundreds. Because they thrive in the shade. Of my heavily wooded yard. My amore mio will have free rein in the sunny areas. With colorful flowers. Of her choice. And I will fortify my rock gardens. With more rocks.  I wonder, too, if I can find space for a vegetable garden.  And an apple tree. Meanwhile, I'm looking for the original design for the Garden of Eden. Complete with the forbidden fruit. From the tree of boundless knowledge. I'll willingly taste the fruit. Without any coaxing.  --Jim Broede

       

Achieving perfect harmony.

Knowing too much may be worse than knowing too little.  Better to have the right balance. Not too much. Not too little. Just the right amount.  Give me just the right dose of knowledge. Whatever makes me happy. When I'm happy, everything seems synchronized. In perfect harmony. When I'm unhappy, something is out of  whack. Out of proper balance. Usually, being in love. Makes a big difference. When one steps on the balancing scale. --Jim Broede

Heavy doses of loving sustenance.

Sustenance. Sustenance. We all need sustenance. And I get it. In my loving relationships. For 38 years. With my wife Jeanne. And now. With Cristina, my Italian amore mio. More than anything else. That's what keeps me going. And thriving. The sustenance I've received from other people. All of  my life. But mainly from my two true loves. And never was the sustenance more important than in troubled and difficult times. We always had each other to fall back on. For sustenance. That's what I wish for everyone. Loving relationships. That provide heavy doses of loving sustenance. --Jim Broede

Wishing that the journey never ends.

Thinking now. What I am. And what I used to be. Not the same person. Yes, I am ever-evolving. I remember being a child. Before I started school. And then a student. I had a father. But not for a long, long time. He decided to take his own life. In the same year that I became a teenager. Had a long-lived mother, too. Had a yen to become a writer, of sorts. Asked for a typewriter for Christmas. And got it. And started publishing a satirical neighborhood newspaper. Went off to college. Became a soldier. In Germany. Came back to the states. And went to work As a journalist. Got married. Became an Alzheimer care-giver. For my dear wife Jeanne. Retired. But continued writing. My way. My kind of stuff. Met my amore mio Cristina. In Italy. Yes, my second true love. And suddenly realized what I had become. A romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. And here I am. Wondering. What’s next? Wishing. Wishing that the journey never ends. –Jim Broede

One can know too much.

I wouldn't mind living in a remote part of the world. Off the beaten track. With little access to the outside world. I could be happy. With no radio or television or newspapers. No Internet, too. I'd make do. Really, it would be a pleasure having no daily news update. I am a naturally curious fella. That likes to know things. But I could adapt to not knowing stuff. Might bring me peace and contentment. Better than the stress that comes with knowing everything. Yes, one can know too much. --Jim Broede

For the joy of dishing it out.

Overall, I have a good grasp of politics. And life, too. Because I know how to turn unhappiness into happiness. Indeed, that's an art. Politicians, for instance, make me unhappy. Momentarily. Until  I poke fun at their shenanigans. And join in the banter. I'm having fun. Thinking of insults far better than theirs. Yes, I stir the pot. Till it boils over and scalds the politicians. They become angry. While I remain calm, cool and collected. Gives me the upper hand. Because I've made my point. Effectively. Giving them the treatment they deserve. Only thing. I don't mean it in a mean-spirited way. Like they do. Instead, I'm doing it strictly for fun. For laughs. For the joy of dishing it out. --Jim Broede

Keeps me happy.

Used to lament. Every time my Chicago Cubs lost a baseball game. That was a problem. Not good for my mental health.  So I decided to ignore the losses. Pretend they never happened. Now I celebrate. Every time the Cubs win. Even if that happens only once or twice a week. I embrace and savor the finer moments of life. That keeps me happy. Seems like virtually all of the time. --Jim

Keeps one guessing.

I was falling asleep. At my computer tonight. So decided to plunk down on my bed for a little nap. Woke up several hours later. At 1:30 a.m. Meanwhile, we had snow earlier in the evening. When I was out walking. An inch or two. But it'll disappear by mid-day on Friday. One last gasp of winter. Started out as little ice pellets. Then turned to full-fledged big-flake snow. The forecast is for 64 degrees by Sunday. The arrival of spring again. It's that time of year. Snow one day, and shirtsleeve weather the next. Both weather and life can be unpredictable. Keeps one guessing all the time. --Jim Broede

Bored automatons.

Don't quite understand why people allow themselves to be bored. All they have to do. Is to exercise the mind. Think captivating thoughts. Or exciting ideas. And then putting the thoughts and ideas into play. In creative ways. Getting carried away. Imaginatively.  In designing a curriculum for elementary school, my highest priority would be on what I call the imaginative arts/sciences. An hour a day. Set aside. For the cultivation of the imagination.  I've noticed something about my bored friends and acquaintances. Mostly, they lack imagination.   They may have a font of knowledge. Enabling them to pass most academic tests with high grades. But they've become bored and unimaginative automatons. --Jim Broede

Nothing more funny than being me.

Life is so very, very funny. That is, if one thinks about it in a funny manner. My ambition. Is to some day be a stand-up comic. To go on stage. Without a script. And ad lib my way through. Without being frightened. Or nervous. Instead, merely being the natural me. That would be a riot. Nothing more funny than being me. --Jim Broede

Better to be an honest fool.

Another pursuit that I rank very high. Becoming a fool. One musn't fear taking risks in life. Yes, it's all right to make mistakes. Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. I make mistakes daily. Foolish mistakes. I become the red-faced fool. Embarrassed. But I've learned something. The art/craft of admitting to my many, many mistakes. But better to be an honest fool than a lying fool. --Jim Broede

A constant state of dreaminess.

Of all my pursuits, maybe the best one is that of dreamer. I put that ahead of everything else. Because dreams often come true. I had to dream of becoming a romantic idealist. And a lover. And a spiritual free-thinker. And a political liberal. A writer, too. Dreams. Dreams. I love to dream. Morning, noon and night. Some days I'm in a constant state of dreaminess. --Jim Broede

Ways to hog the spotlight.

Yes, we live in a world where one can gain instant fame. Or notoriety. Do what Germanwings pilot Andreas Lubitz did.  Commit suicide. And take hundreds of people with you. Now we all have heard of Lubitz. Exactly what he wanted. We have news channels. Reporting horrendous deeds. Twenty-four hours  a day. Yes, stuff like this makes the news. Here's another way. Become a politician. With outlandish ideas. Making a complete fool of one's self. Politicians do it every day. Knowing it will get them publicity. Name recognition. Celebrity. Don't know if that's more humane than Lubitz's way. Have to think about it. So many ways to hog the spotlight. --Jim Broede

Until he wises up.

Nothing wrong with calling stupid people stupid. Especially if they don't have to be stupid. Of course, it's a judgment call. On my part. I've been chastised. Criticized. For calling U. S. Senator Ted Cruz stupid. Despite Cruz being educated at Harvard. Still, Cruz fits my definition of stupid. Because he's ultra conservative, politically. I'd call Cruz intelligent and wise if only he were a liberal. Until he wises up, Cruz remains stupid. --Jim Broede

Here to stay. Forever.

When I talk politics. I'm often irreverent. And insulting. Because that's the way so very many politicians talk to each other. With lack of respect. With closed minds. With no qualms about playing dirty. And being grossly unfair to one's opponents. That's the way the game is played. With a lack of personal integrity. The whole show is run in highly partisan manner. Political animals aren't all that interested in listening to all sides of the story. Instead, their side is the only side. No give and take. No compromise. Yes, that's the way I see most political systems. Almost total lack of objectivity. Indeed, a bad way to operate a government. Ignoring the common good. Saying to heck with the majority. In favor of serving an elite few. Mostly rich and selfish power brokers. Therefore, I get annoyed.  With the political systems. And let loose with a barrage of harsh words and insults. Out of frustration. Knowing that change ain't coming. And I can't do anything about it. Politics and crazy politicians are here to stay. Forever. --Jim Broede

Rather be reserved. And poised.

I control my emotions. Fairly well. Oh, I let go sometimes. Becoming effusively happy. Or excessively sad. But I try to avoid the extremes. At either end of the emotional spectrum. Preferring to stay relatively even-keel. There's such a thing as being too emotional. Losing one's objectivity. With an emotional outburst. I'd rather be reserved. And poised. Especially when I'm on the verge of making meaningful life decisions. --Jim Broede

Please, put me to the test.

We are all routinely asked, 'How are you?' And we usually reply, 'Just fine.' Except me. I've taken to proclaiming, 'Better than you.' Now that could be taken in several different ways. Positively. And negatively. Anyway, I do it with a purpose. To gauge the reaction. And to get people to think about it. If they have a sense of humor, it's nice to announce my superiority. That I'm an elite. Top in my class. No reason for me to be humble. Of course, if they take me seriously. That's all right, too. Because it's a sign that I have a superior sense of humor. And I can rub it in. My all-too-depressive friend Julie asks me the same question. Virtually every time I see her. Unfortunately, my patented answer is all-too-true. I really am better than she. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. The good news. Julie's beginning to understand my point. That it's time for her to become better than me. That would make me happy. I might even jump high in the air and click my heels. Wish Julie would put me to the test. --Jim Broede

In my loving dreams.

I keep exploring life. Knowing that can be dangerous. Because occasionally I find the dark side. But always. I know how to find my way. Into the sunshine. After all, I'm a natural born lover. A dreamer, too. Knowing what and who I am. Makes the difference. No matter where I go. Even into the depths of hell. I find relief. Solace. In my ability to find love. In my dreams. --Jim Broede

My state of mind.

Feeling distinctive. Unique. One of a kind. That's my aim/goal today. So many, many people in the world. Billions and billions. And here I am. Wanting to feel elite. And I do. Because I am me. Distinct from everyone else. Is that wrong of me? Arrogant? Egotistical? Of course, I could take the humble approach. And merely settle for blending in. Like a single grain in the sand. But no, no. I'm a singular grain that stands out. Because I have my own mind. My own being. I'm particular. Not quite like every other grain of sand. That's to be my state of mind. Today. And maybe tomorrow, too. --Jim Broede

To never be bored to death.

Life is interesting. Always has been. Of course, I speak only for myself. Never a reason to be bored. Because I'm always curious. About something or other. But I have friends and acquaintances. Some of whom seem bored. I like being around them. Because it gives me the opportunity to practice psychoanalysis. And to suggest that they don't have to be bored. That it's possible to cultivate the craft/art of curiosity. To think about being alive. And conscious. That would be a revelation.  An astounding discovery. Certainly, that's better than going through the motions of living. On automatic pilot. Bored. Anyway, I'm excited. At 3-something in the morning. As I wake. And become aware of my consciousness. My ability to think. Concrete thoughts. Flitting. From one thought. To another. An endless chain of thoughts. I'm captivated. Mostly by the thought. That I am alive and conscious. A real person. With the ability to explore ways to make life exciting and thrilling and meaningful. To never be bored to death. --Jim Broede

Long live our relationship!

I have so many, many friends and acquaintances with broken or fragile marriages. Learned of another one today. Seems like almost a daily occurrence.  Sad, isn't it?  Makes me a lucky fella. I had a good marriage. Lasted for 38 years.  Wish it were longer. But dear Jeanne died. Of Alzheimer's. Eight years ago. It was a blissful marriage. With lots of togetherness. Maybe we were separated for 10 days. At the most. Jeanne went on a vacation once. With her aunt. Without me. Of course, I survived. Now I'm in a 'relationship.' With Cristina, my amore mio (sweetheart). An Italian. It could be called a de facto marriage. Believe me. It's just as blissful as was my marriage to Jeanne. But it's different. In that we aren't physically living together all of the time. Only part-time. Several months a year. Though we see and talk to each other. Daily. On Skype. It's a nice arrangement.  We enjoy the best of two worlds. Italy and America. In some ways, we are two very different people. From different cultures. We have different likes and dislikes. But we blend. Wonderfully. We thrive on our differences. We have cultivated the art of acceptance. We encourage each other to be ourselves. Neither one of us would want to live with our clones. Long live our differences! Long live our relationship! --Jim Broede

Without a meddling USA.

I'd like to turn back the clock. Maybe 15 years. To before the U.S. invaded Iraq. And really started meddling full-scale in the Middle East. In essence, we broke it. And never fixed it. Made the situation far worse than if we had left well enough alone. And allowed the Middle East nations to fix themselves. We'll never know. But I suspect the Middle East autocratic rulers, such as Saddam Hussein, would have taken iron-fisted control. And forced some reasonable degree of orderliness. Exactly what the Middle East needs. The people there aren't suited for Western-style ways of living and governing. They should be allowed to go their own unique Middle Eastern ways. If they want to obliterate each other, that's fine with me. But I'd like to think. That some day, they would find ways to live in peace and harmony. On their own. Without a meddling USA. --Jim Broede

Humor. My saving grace.

I occasionally forget. That I'm happy to be alive. And conscious. Which is funny. Not all that serious. Because then I remember. Being happy. My real affliction. Taking myself too seriously. But that lasts only momentarily. Until I find myself. Laughing. Uproariously.  Yes. A sense of humor. My saving grace. --Jim Broede

A real difference-maker.

I like spring and summer and autumn. More than winter. Though I don't dislike winter. Even in very, very wintry Minnesota. Of course, when I'm in Sardinia, there is no winter. At least, no snow. And no freezing temperatures. Best of all. The change of seasons. Bringing a wide range of weather conditions. I'm able to adapt. To a sweltering, humid summer day. Or a blustery wintry blizzard. I'm able to find beauty and comfort in everything. Especially when I'm with my adorable amore mio. She's a real difference-maker. --Jim Broede

In a reasonable and fair manner.

I like what's happening. Politically. Between Iran and the rest of the world. An accord. Achieved. Diplomatically. With civility. By all sides. Sure beats war. Of course, conservative Republicans. In America. Remain skeptical. As they always do. That's their political nature. They oppose Obama and Democrats. At every turn. Call their opponents into ill repute. They love skirmishes. No compromise. I'm of a different persuasion. Preferring give and take. A deal. That benefits all sides. Yes. I'm for living life. In a reasonable and fair manner. --Jim Broede  

Call it non-stop living.

Here's my secret. I retired without retiring. In the sense that I have remained active. Mentally. Physically. In fact, more than before so-called retirement. When I was a journalist. A writer. For a daily newspaper. Turns out. I never gave up writing. In fact, I continued to write. More than ever. The difference being. I now write strictly my way. Never by the dictates of a boss/editor. Nobody clears what I write. Little wonder.  I've developed a unique style. In the process, I've become more my real self. More free. More uninhibited. It's carried over into other meaningful aspects of my life. I've become  a romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. Not sure that I was all that. Before retirement. Instead, I've taken the time to cultivate a more creative way of life.  My primary motivation. For retiring. Was to care for my dear sweet wife. Jeanne. After she became riddled with Alzheimer's. Indeed. The role of care-giver isn't exactly what one would call retirement. It's more active, more meaningful lifestyle. And since Jeanne died, I have become enamored. With a second true love. My lovely and adorable amore mio. In Italy. We cavort back and forth. Between Sardinia and Minnesota. I've become a world traveler. Learning to live a day at a time. Savoring the now. The precious moments. And not least, becoming a man in almost perpetual motion. Walking. Walking, Walking. Biking. Biking. Biking. Writing. Writing. Writing. Yes, call retirement a form of non-stop living. Don't even intend to take time to die. --Jim Broede

The danger of being heartbroken.

I am addicted. To the Chicago Cubs. Yes, a baseball team. And that poses great danger.  Because my addiction can easily become negative. A consuming thing. That causes me stress. And anxiety. This could become the most dangerous baseball season ever. For me. Because some of the baseball prognosticators have predicted the best of times for the Cubs. The possibility that the Cubs may be magically transformed. From one of the worst teams in professional baseball. To the best. In a single season. Yes, all the way to the top, to the coveted World Series. Which the Cubs last won in 1908, some 107 years ago. Used to be that when the Cubs lost a game, I lamented. For days. Especially if it was a tough loss. A game they should have won. A heartbreaker, so to speak. But in recent years, I adjusted. Because each loss didn't matter much in the standings. The Cubs remained mired in last place. For five seasons.  But suddenly, the Cubs have accumulated a bunch of promising young players. Plus some veteran free agents.  Therefore, there's a potential for a dramatic turnaround in Cubs' fortunes.  And each game will become more meaningful. I may begin to lament again. Over a single loss. And go into a funk. But still, there are possible safety measures I could take. By not listening to or watching the games. Better to check the score the next day or next week or next month.  Yes, I must avoid the danger of being heartbroken. --Jim Broede

A true blue Loverboy.

My cat Loverboy gives me love bites. And I allow it. Even when he occasionally draws blood. Because he does it affectionately. As if I'm another cat. His pal. His friend. Loverboy is merely being a cat. Being himself. Therefore, I tolerate the love bites. Even the blood-letting ones. Because I interpret them as genuine expression of love. I will sometimes respond with an 'Ow!' But I choose not to punish Loverboy. After all, he's being a true blue Loverboy. I'd have it no other way. --Jim Broede

Time to fess up.

Time for the anti-Obama conservatives to fess up. They really dislike Obama for one reason. He's black. And they are white. Deep down, in their souls, they are racists. They despise black people. Especially a black president. Having decided the White House was built solely for white people. Otherwise, it would be called the Black House. Some of these white conservatives proclaim that Obama was born in Kenya. Despite his American birth certificate.  They also purport that Obama is a secret Muslim. As if that matters. Shouldn't matter what Obama is. A Muslim. A Christian. A Jew. Or even an atheist. If these conservative critics truly fessed up, they'd admit. The thing they dislike most about Obama. Is his blackness. --Jim Broede

An imperfect being, am I.

I'm not always in a groove. Which those of you who read me, can tell. That's the price you have to pay. If you come here. Fortunately, 90 percent of the time, I'm in a nice groove. Which means, I flow. Positively. Yes, I know. I scare away people. When I'm out of whack. Out of a groove. Unfortunately, I know too many out-of-groove people. They've been that way. Almost their entire lives. Having never, or rarely, found their grooves. As for me. I'm in a constant search. For my groove. Even when I'm in my groove, I'm looking. For more and better grooves. Nothing wrong with that. Some of you want perfection from me. Which you ain't gonna get. Because I'm in love. With many of my imperfections. I accept myself. For what I am. An imperfect being. --Jim Broede

The good life...lived properly.

Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron continues to thrive. Of course, I speak that in a relative sense. Thriving. For an 86-year-old man, With dementia. And the survivor of a broken neck. From a fall last summer. Ron remains active. Physically. Mentally. Even emotionally.  I have never seen an Alzheimer patient quite like this. One might call it miraculous. But I suspect it's more a case of Ron being treated properly. Like everyone with Alzheimer's should be treated. With daily mental and physical stimulation. Delivered one-on-one. At a 5-bed residential care center called Arthur's Residence. In an idyllic setting. In a Twin Cities suburb. Where Ron is in short walking distance of a heavily wooded park. With paved trails. Making it possible for Ron to cavort outdoors. Daily. In a wheelchair. Or on foot. I'm visiting Ron twice a week. Not only to stimulate him. But also because Ron stimulates me. He's a marvel. And proof that when treated properly, those with Alzheimer's can still lead a reasonably productive and meaningful life. Indeed, that's encouraging. But also discouraging. In that very few of the Alzheimer-riddled get proper treatment. I wish other care-givers could sneak in. And observe what's happening to Ron. It's thrilling. And gratifying. Ron is immersed in good vibes therapy. Virtually round-the-clock. The same goes for other residents of Arthur's Residence. Norma, Sharon, Bee and Steve.  It's like one big happy Alzheimer's family. That's the way Ron thinks of it. He's found a home. And settled in. He's comfortable. At ease. And so are the others. Fact is. I'm comfortable, too. Every time I'm with Ron. Yes, life ain't all that bad. It's darn good. When lived properly and decently. --Jim Broede

Doing as I damn well please.

Writing. With a purpose.  To help me navigate the labyrinth of life. That's what I do. Almost every day. Comes down to taking time. To collect my thoughts. To decide. To determine my priorities. For today. Not tomorrow. So many, many options. And I must choose. One. Not two or three. Only one. This is what I am going to do. And to heck with the rest of the stuff. I  must guard against trying to do too much. Too many things. Better to assume. That I have time. To delay. To postpone. In order to live fully. Today.   My friends and associates. Will intervene. And try to divert me. Into this direction. And that direction. Better to ignore them. And stick to my course. I know what I must do. So please, everyone. Get out of my way. I will do as I damn well please. --Jim Broede